I am reminded today of how treasured memories are. The ones, big and small, that we make each day. The memories of childhood, of friendships, of family. The laughs shared, tears shed. How I take these for granted. That I wake up each morning knowing where I am, recognizing the face of my husband the giggle of my little boy.
As I drove to the pool for an afternoon swim yesterday, my heart heavy with reports from home, I wondered what it might be like to lose everything yet still remain. To forget even your very sense of self. To forget not only those you love but who you are at your very essence. A thought struck me. Perhaps this happens more than I think. Perhaps even in the absence of dementia, I can lapse into periods of forgetting who I am.
In this season of lent, the season of reflection....of remembering...is it possible that I can lose track of who I am? Of who I am in Christ, the very essence of my being? When I feel hopeless, am overcome with worry, see myself as lacking, am I really forgetting who I am? If I am honest this happens not only during Lent but at all times.
As I watch from a distance someone grasping to remember, I am challenged not only to embrace today, the very creation of those treasured memories but to reflect daily, to practice the art of remembering who I am.
